“You asked me, and I told you no,” Tristan says as my eyes flick between the two of them. Whoa. During our game at the casino, he inferred he was going to use his favor with Creed to keep him away from Harper. And now …

“Tristan,” Harper snaps back, sitting up straight. Her eyes cut right through him, and I see then that all the lip biting and hair flipping and giggling is an act. There’s a rod of steel making up her backbone. “Don’t you think your future is more—”

He turns and puts a finger against her lips, leaning in with a growl.

“If you keep talking, I’ll toss you right out of this limo, and we’ll find out if the Plebs enjoy their queen better … or their king. Don’t test me, Harper.” She rears back like he’s slapped her, eyes flashing with hurt.

“You always get like this when Lizzie—”

The look on Tristan’s face right then is venomous.

“Don’t you dare mention her name.” His words are an order, snapped off a whip-like tongue. “Mention Lizzie again, I swear, and Harper du Pont you’ll be sorry.”

The limo rolls to a stop, and Harper practically throws herself out, tears brimming in her eyes. Becky follows, Abigail, Valentina, and the boys behind her.

Zayd whistles.

“That was mad harsh,” Zayd breathes, but then he’s grinning like it’s all fun and games. Torturing people doesn’t bother the Idol boys. “She’s in love with you, you know.”

“She’s in love with my last name, and the Vanderbilt reputation.” Tristan steps out of the limo and takes off down the dock. Zayd helps me off of Creed’s lap, and onto the pavement outside. It’s actually somewhat painful for me to wear these shoes outside. They cost two thousand dollars. For one pair of shoes. It’s just … I can hardly even imagine spending that kind of money on footwear.

“I’ve got an awful boner,” Creed drawls, and Miranda wrinkles her nose up.

“You’re gross. Nobody wants to know that,” she says, steering clear of her twin and guiding Andrew up the gangplank and onto the ship. Zayd grins and turns around, walking backwards as Creed takes my arm again.

“Sorry?” I start, and then I can’t help but laugh. Creed narrows his eyes, but the slightest hint of a smile rests on his lips. He doesn’t give two craps that everyone can see the proof of his arousal in his slacks. In fact, he seems to enjoy the attention.

The tension that brewed between us in the limo is still there, dampened only slightly by the drama between Harper and Tristan. When Creed guides me inside and over to our assigned table at the rear of the ship, he puts his hand on the small of my back, and my bones turn to jelly. He pulls my chair out for me, pushes me in, and then lays his hands on my shoulders, leaning down to put his mouth to my ear.

“I’ll be right back.” He presses a kiss to the side of my jaw, and my eyes go wide.

“So … are you really into him then?” Miranda asks, staring at me from across the table like she’s never seen me before. “He … read your essay aloud.” My cheeks flush. I hadn’t forgotten that, but I also can’t deny that when he’s not being a total and complete prick, I enjoy Creed Cabot’s company. Like I said, it’s easier for me to trust than to believe deceit. And I want to believe I can be friends with these guys.

“I don’t know,” I whisper, putting my napkin on my lap as Zayd, and then Tristan, joins our table. The table next to us has the Idol girls, including Gena and her date, as well as Ebony Peterson and Jalen Donner. The rest of the Bluebloods are split between the two tables at the base of the dais on which we’re sitting. I think the design was meant to house a wedding party or something. The stage is positioned diagonally across from us, dimly lit and waiting for the band.

According to the program that’s on the back side of my menu, the music doesn’t start until after we eat. As of right now, there’s the faintest whisper of classical music coming from the speakers.

Creed rejoins us just before dinner service starts, and Zayd gives him a knowing smirk.

“What the hell were you doing in there? Taking a shit?”

“Oh stop,” Miranda groans as Creed smirks, and scoots his chair closer to me, putting his arm around my shoulders.

“I was taking care of a little problem,” he says, his blond hair obscuring his eyes. He leans in close and turns so that his lips are against my cheek. “And I thought of you while I did it.”

“Did you just infer you jerked off in the bathroom?” I choke, and Creed leans back in his seat, all lazy and happy as a sated cat. He doesn’t answer, but Zayd’s howling laughter and Miranda’s red face tell me all I need to know. I catch her leaning in to whisper to Andrew a few times and decide that if they are dating, they haven’t been very discreet about it. They’re always together, and they do weird things, but … maybe I didn’t see it before is because there’s no spark? Zero. They look like friends, and that’s it.

The spark I’m feeling with Creed is a hundred times theirs, and I don’t even like the guy.

“It’s them, isn’t it?” Creed whispers, just before warm bread and butter is served, drink orders taken. I don’t respond, but I really don’t think so. At some point, I’m just going to have to ask.

Dinner is extravagant, as usual, but everything is good, even foods I’ve never tried before.

The eyes of every person in that room are on us, observing what the Idols eat, how they sit, what they’re laughing about. I’m now sitting at the table I spotted that first day of school, the one brimming with energy and charisma. A smile curves my lips, and a warmth bubbles in my chest.

I feel like … I belong.

After dessert is served—a fantastic chocolate torte with fresh fruit and edible silver beads—Creed stands up and offers me his hand, making us the first couple on the dance floor in the middle of all the tables. There are silver streamers made of stars above our heads, vases stuffed with fresh flowers, and little white Christmas trees decorated with twinkling lights.

The band that takes up the stage is young, hot, and clearly very recognizable. Every student in that room goes nuts when they start playing, and I feel like the gap in my pop culture knowledge is showing. Creed doesn’t seem bothered, helping me through the bouncier songs and holding me during the slow ones. He’s got this permanent half-smile on his face that I think might actually be real.

Dancing with him is not like dancing with Zayd. Zayd Kaiser is a force in and of himself, pulling me into orbit, making my body move with his. Creed is a patient teacher, showing me where to go but expecting I’ll get there on my own. I like both approaches. I wonder how Tristan would dance? The thought pops into my head, and my eyes flick back to the table to find him watching me.

He doesn’t seem interested in dancing tonight. But his gaze is dark, inquisitive. It gives me the chills—in a good way.

I focus back on Creed, his blue eyes staring into mine, his hands drifting lower. He cups my ass briefly before readjusting his hands. My mouth drops open, and his smile gets a bit wider, his eyes still half-lidded. Bedroom eyes, that’s what he has. I hadn’t figured out how to describe them before, but that’s the expression he’s always got on, like he’s about to have sex.

“You should tutor me,” he says after a while. “You’d make a sexy teacher, and I could use the boost to my grades.” My brows go up, but that’s not a bad idea. Burberry Prep has an official tutoring program I could enroll in, and get credit for. And then I’d get to spend some one-on-one time with Creed …

When the band takes a break, Creed leads me up to the top deck. Even though it’s freezing outside, we huddle up on one of the benches and look out across the water at the glittering lights of the academy campus. Creed takes off his white jacket and covers my shoulders with it, pulling me into his lap again. It’s ice-cold out here, and my thighs were sticking to the bench, so I’m more than happy with the arrangement.

My right arm is around is neck, fingers teasing the fine blond hairs there.

We don’t talk, just watch the horizon as the boat makes it way along the shore and then turns around to head back toward the harbor. Between the food and the dancing and … whatever this is that’s happening between me and Creed, I find that my eyelids are starting to droop. I end up resting my head on his shoulder, nestled in the crook of his neck.

“Thank you for the shoes,” I whisper, and then Creed’s turning and lifting my chin with his fingers.

Slowly, almost slowly enough that it feels like we’re not moving at all, Creed and I lean in. His fingers slide to the back of my neck, and our mouths meet. There’s no tongue at first, just lips, but then Creed pulls me closer, adjusting my body so that I’m straddling him.

I’ve never done anything like this before, and my body throbs like crazy. It feels so damn good, I want to keep going. My hands curl together behind Creed’s neck and we kiss until I feel him stir beneath me again.

No.

Shit, no.

I’ve known this guy for four months, and he’s treated me like crap for most of them.

“I … have to go,” I whisper, tearing away from him and racing down the length of the boat to the bathroom.

Before I can slip in the door, Tristan is stepping in front of me and blocking my way.

“What—” I start, and then he grabs me by the hips, pulling me forward and crushing me against his body. Creed’s jacket slides off my shoulders and flutters to the ground as Tristan digs his fingers into my hair and claims my mouth with his own.

My entire body collapses in his arms.

My own fingers dig into the front of his sharp black tux, clawing for more. It’s like I’ve been shot with Cupid’s arrow, slowly drowning in need and want. Wake up, Marnye! I shout at myself, but I can barely move, barely breathe. The only thing that matters in that moment is that Tristan’s tongue is sweeping against my own, his hands squeezing my hips.